Friday, March 4, 2011
The Big 6-3
We are late in wishing our dear Papa Eggs "Happy Birthday". Beau and I were so sick on February 18 that we had to cancel our John's Incredible Pizza plans. Since our family makes up 5/8 of the celebration, the whole thing was abandoned. I felt bad.
It will be rescheduled, but for now, I wanted to share why I love my dad.
He had three girls. He loves football, baseball, and any other ball. I am sure he would have loved to play sports with a boy, but he loved to play sports with us girls as well. My fondest memories of a happy childhood involve me and my dad hitting a handball against the garage, playing catch in the front yard with a baseball and mitts, bumping a volleyball by the pool, or shooting baskets out in the driveway. He was never too busy to play a pick-up game with me and my sisters. He was never too busy to attend every game and tournament I had. He was never too busy to help me work on a particular skill of whatever sport I was playing that season.
My dad was the principal of my high school. I loved it and hated it. I loved walking into his office for a chat, or seeing him on campus. I hated it for obvious reasons, but those reasons faded as I spent more time at school. For two years, I got to ride into work with him every morning at 6, and I got to ride home with him every night at 6. I got involved in activities and sports I may not have otherwise been interested in, just because I was there and available. We would listen to Paul Harvey's The Rest of the Story every morning. Each evening, we would talk about the day or just ride home in contented silence.
Another reason I love my dad is because he taught me that there is a God, and that our home respected that principle. He brought me to church and he took me to Catholic school even with money was tight. I didn't have a relationship with Christ as my Savior like I do now, but I knew without a doubt that there was a God, that He was real.
And my dad taught me how a man should act around ladies. He was always very respectful while being masculine. It shaped the way I looked for a husband.
So I wanted to say, Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.
Niech zyje, zyje nam.